Friday, October 29, 2010

God has an amazing sense of humor... Let me rephrase... God has a sick, twisted, dark and demented sense of humor. When we are at our lowest, our highest, or any of the many emotional states in between, he manages to send us dreams and events that flip our entire world upside down.

I am moving three days from the date of this post. I am uprooting my life, packing my few belongings into grey Rubbermaid containers, and questing across vast distances, beginning life anew in the great city of New York. Its already going to be a hard enough journey without small added stresses of everyday life, but God... see, he likes to fuck with my head. I have a very VERY vivid imagination and an active dream life, and God likes to use this to his advantage. Let me elaborate...

For starters, I suppose I should describe my Grandmother. Her name is Helen, she weighs about 300 pounds, has white, poofy hair and rather resembles the drag queen Charlie Brown... Resembles her quite a bit, actually. As a matter of fact, the first time I ever saw Charlie Brown as at the Carousel 2 in Knoxville, Tennessee. I had gone with my two new friends, Tommy (my past and future roommate) and his friend Steve (always friendly but never really my friend, just an acquaintance), and they had prepped me on the fabulousness that was Charlie Brown.

We are standing in the darkened bar, techno music blasting in between show numbers, the crowd of glittered queers pushing against one another, when all of a sudden, the DJ announces "Ladies and Gentlemen! Please give a big Carousel welcome to our special guest for the evening... the amazing CHARLIE...BROWN!" At this point I expected a small, bald, yellow-clad oaf to wander onto the stage, attempt to kick a football, and fall on his ass, much to the drunken delight of the audience. I moved slightly closer. The music began. The curtain parted, and out walks...

GRANDMA?! I was in such shock at the resemblance that I literally fell back into the arms of Tommy and Steve. They asked what was wrong, and I yelled, above the music "Charlie Brown looks JUST like my Grandma!" Of course, they laughed, and didn't believe me... that is, until Tommy joined me at her house for Easter dinner... He took one look, fell back and whispered "Your Grandma looks JUST like Charlie Brown!" I digress...

I've been having nightmares and dreams about moving for the past few nights, and last night was particularly interesting. I was woken at 9:00 a.m. by my mother calling, and I relayed the entire dream to her. I'm pretty sure she hung up because she had pissed herself from laughing so hard and needed some new panties.

I was being dropped off at work by some random older man (I'm thinking he and I had gone on some type of vacation, for whatever reason) and I have about 45 minutes until I have to clock in. It was surprising to me that I was working, especially 11-7, since my last day had been the previous Sunday. Regardless of my reasons, I had a job to do. I went inside the building, which was a cross of my television studio and a local community college... it also had a secret, but that will come.

Once inside, I made my way to the control room, and began my day, working utility, downloading satellite feeds, among other daily duties. Suddenly, I was with my Grandmother, walking through the building, searching for my mother. I had met Grandma in the lobby, and we took the elevator down (and up) to other floors, looking. Eventually, we end up in a sub-floor, which has a very clean, stark design and layout. I direct her to a set of double-doors, and she mistakenly goes to another set, trying to find my mother on her own. I say "No, Grandma. She's through these double doors."

"Well, Patrick, I'm just trying to find your mom," she said, poking around where I knew she had no chance to find her.

We finally make it through the double doors, and are in a very large warehouse. Its been stripped bare. What had once been something, was now nothing. I began having flashes of memory... stark, white walls, with large tiles, computers, people... and my mother. She had been here, and now she wasn't but I had a good idea of why.

"Grandma. Mom was here. This is where they held her, but she's gone now. I don't know where. We need to go, before they come back."

I lead her out of the room, her short heels clicking on the floor. I noticed she was walking funny, kind of weaving back and forth, like a teeter totter. As we approached the exit, she burst through the doors, ran down the flight of stairs outside, pushing through students and leaping, jumping, taking off and flying into the distance. I stared after her in disbelief, then ran back inside... and right into the government agent I knew had done something to both her and my mother.

"What have you done!? Where is she going and what did you do to my mother?" I screamed at him, his face placid, mine a mask of anger and fear.

"We did nothing. We know nothing."

"Bullshit. I know what you did! It was a trap, and you lured us here. You had my mother but you've moved her somewhere else, and you set up some kind of signal that did something to my Grandmother!" I was finally understanding...

"The blood in your family line is very powerful, and your Grandmother's was particularly so. All we did was activate her latent abilities. What happens now is up to her."

At this point, my mother called and I woke up. I guess I'll never know what they had in store for me or my family, but I don't think it was good.

Now I am left with this... the unanswered questions. What does it all mean? What was going to happen? Where was my mother, and how does this all translate into my real life? I think the answers are pretty obvious, but as an overly analytical person, you can see how I would read even more into it... God is such a mean kid sometimes...

Friday, October 15, 2010

My morning work routine is as such: wake up, shower, coffee, breakfast and then to work, where I catch up on my early morning assignments, and get caught up on my favorite blogs, !! omgblog !! and Towleroad. The following video was something that caught my eye, and, after having watched it, I was reminded of my own childhood, dealing with and accepting my differences, the acceptance of my family and peers, and learning what it meant to be the person I am today.

As a child, I was always slightly more mature than my age. I felt more comfortable in the company of teenagers and adults, rather than with children my age, give or take a few years. It was not uncommon for me to shy away from other kids and retreat to the side of my parents, their parents, a teacher or family friend, and on occassion, a teddy bear, with whom I'd share a snack of sticks and grass.

My unconventional nature was further detailed by my love of ANYTHING Oz (particularly the Wicked Witch of the West, because she could fly), sewing, and wearing under-used frocks and heels that I would find by digging through my mother's closet. I remember specifically her exasperation as she would catch me running through the house, her stilettos clacking across the hardwood floors, lipstick and eyeshadow smeared across my face, trying to escape her "wrath" at my investigation into the life of a not-so-fabulous housewife. She would eventually track me down, having followed the scuff marks left by the shoes, or simply spying a chunk of silk or lace hanging around the side of the couch, as I had not yet mastered the art of hiding in a floor-length funeral gown. Needless to say, her shame and anger were far outweighed by a light, yet fearful, sense of understanding and acceptance... She never put things out of my reach, especially when they made me so happy.

I remember several key moments of my youth where, looking back, I now see the beginnings of my true self shining through. I always had this innate sense of self and self-recognition. I knew the things I liked to do, the things that made me feel good, and the things I had always felt I must keep a secret. My first crushes (even though I had a MULTITUDE of girlfriends throughout my earliest years) were on other boys, and occassionally men. I remember becoming upset when my cousin and I, at the age of 5 and 4 respectively, were in the bath, and she rubbed it in my face that she had a bagina and I did not... My tears were numerous and sorrowful, for I wanted on for myself... I knew this was how boys and girls fit together and while I did not, and do not, want to actually be a girl, I knew that I would one day want a boy the same way my female counterpart could have one... As I mentioned, I was slightly mature for my age, and my knowledge and wisdom ran deep for a child. On several occassions, I would pretend that I was a mermaid (man) and would pretend that prince, much in the vein of The Little Mermaid, would rescue me for the horrible sea witch that is life. I would play cowboys and indians... and I was always the Indian, although not because of my Native American heritage, but because I enjoyed running around in the loin cloth I had made from scraps of fabric, carrying a spear I'd fashioned from a tree branch and an arrowhead.

As I just discussed with a co-worker, I was raised in a masculine household, learning such skills as car repair, fishing, building model rockets and making my own toys. Along with these, I taught myself how to sew, paint, style hair, and do makeup, along with numerous other typically "non-masculine" hobbies. I played sports one minute, and would make and serve lemonade to the workers around my house, dressed in a bedsheet turned sarong.

For me, being gay, and understanding my differences from the other boys my age, caused significant turmoil. I was often quiet, untrusting, shy and ashamed for what I was. Though I couldn't put a name to it at the time, I never did hide from it. Even in my secret shame, I accepted who and what I was, as my family did much later when I finally was able to say the word: Gay.

This is how I began, young, carefree and fabulous, and I will end older, wiser and all the more proud for the journey I have made, the feats I have accomplished and the love of myself and others I'm so willing to share.